Today, I learned a valuable lesson.
It was a depressing lesson.  It was a whole big spiel that reminded me that I’m more of an alien than I had previously imagined.  That’s cool.
Everyone has an opinion, but– well, unfortunately, I can’t respect opinions that I consider rubbish & self-serving.  That whole “you’re cool, just as long as you believe exactly as I do” storyline is obsolete, man.
The ultimate lesson– aliens do exist.
Us, the aliens, should not even waste our time with emotional beings. I’m not like you, attempts to “fit in” to your mold– well, it exhausts me, it kills my life energy, but most importantly, I just don’t want to really do it, no point. 

Previously, THIS:

The following song is dedicated to some guy, just some guy, I do not know.
Recently, as I walked down the packed city street– I saw him.
As I accidentally crept upon the stranger, it became apparent the portly fellow was not playing drunken shenanigans.  Nope, the man really was out cold, with no visible air flow coming from his exposed tubbiness comfortably spread across the pavement, maybe he was dead.  The sleek bloodline that worn upon his eyeline through forehead provided a perfect hemoglobin pool.
Methodically, I walked straight to the stagnant stout, upon my arrival, a local law official waved me along, “Go on.”  So, I did.
As I passed a nearby drinking spot, I felt a need to walk in.  The first 7 shots of alcohol Slurpees, the beer, and the remaining shots– were for me, pal.  After all, in passing, I only knew the mysterious dredge. Upon my return to my temporary home, my friend was no longer in his spot, there was not even a reminder that Mr. Kilroy had ever been present.
Later in the day, the afternoon news was scoured for any word, any update– there is none.  Ironically, between my stranger’s point and my “home”– there was a report of a dude catching burning his house down and then proceeding to hang himself.

Dedicated to the man that may have been too young to fall in love but maybe he’s not too young to fall dead, alone, in some random foreign street:

Keeping with the Crue theme for my crew seems fitting. 

Here’s to a day spent testing the fate of the third world nation gods.
Specifically, time to look into getting a rich man’s tattoo with poor man prices in a developing nation. As a wise one once said, “Why not?”

A short 6-hours later.

I have returned with the hope of antibodies fighting off the potential ravages of tattoo disease; you know what I’m talking about, well probably.

What did I get? A clue:
Today seems like a right occasion to remind all– tattoos hurt.

The worst part of today’s work– was not listening to that Adele tune, Nah.  It was having to hear that same song 3 times during the process, you know– the one about “wishing the best for you.”

FYI, Adele is a more generous person than DR, I would not wish that fool anything other than maybe an endless case of “the clap.”

PS, thanks to the dude mentioned in that song– Adele’s next 37 boyfriends were likely all reminded how they were not “the man.”

I mean, she unmistakably exclaims– she’ll find her own version of that particularly marvelous chap.  To do so probably includes making all those after boys dress like him and do all type of things that she romanticizes that dude had previously done.  Of course, the main problem with her nostalgia is that she is likely making up a high-standard of a previous reality that did not actually exist.

Say whatever ya want about Adele’s tunes, but lyrically her words tend to match up with the real world reality, no?

For the moment, that’s all that needs to be said.  Oh, remember– try not to be a dick.
Go forth and be cool.


" Darrell Roberts : Writing is my passion, whether you agree, disagree, love, or hate the expression of my passion is not important. What is important, is that those that read my words are never bored by doing so.."